Heads Up
by Darthishtar
Summary: Josh Lyman is apprised of a threat to the President. Well, sorta... This is a semicrossover of The West Wing and a delightful mockumentary called Duck, Duck Goose.


"Heads up."

In this case, it was a literal order, since Josh had been at one of the President's three-in-the-morning educational lectures again. It wasn't until Donna repeated herself that the phrase penetrated his semi-conscious haze. His head jerked up as he inhaled with a snort and glared blearily at her.

"Hzzngh?" he asked.

"Be warned," she clarified. "C.J. is looking nervous and Sam's hiding in his office."

"That could mean anything," Josh mumbled, rubbing furiously at his eyes. "The President didn't organize a field trip, did he?"

"No," Donna said, accustomed to this kind of half-nonsensical jabbering. "Was he supposed to?"

"No," Josh sighed, "but around three a.m., he decided that I needed to..."

Actually, it wasn't really clear WHAT he was supposed to do. All he remembered was that it had something to do with some tavern in Massachusetts and the need for etiquette. It hadn't made much sense then, either, but that probably meant that he would have to have every detail memorized.

Well, C.J. always looked nervous. It seemed to help her concentrate. It also made them all do their jobs better just in case she had a valid reason for looking as if The Bomb was about to drop.

"Did Sam say _why _he was hiding?"

"No," Donna said solemnly, "but there was a message from Leo."

"I'll go see him," Josh decided.

"No time."

"Sure there is," he said, heading for the door. "I've got forty-five minutes before the call with DoD and it'll probably take Leo all of thirty seconds to tell me what is so damn important this early in the morning. I'll be back here in plenty of time to study the inside of my eyelids for thirty minutes and might even have a second for a sponge bath."

"You haven't found out what Leo's message was," Donna protested.

She was getting that insistent tone again, so he turned and blinked blearily at her. "Yeah?"

"Four words," she explained. "'Big block of cheese.'"

It was amazing what four words could do to his alertness level. He opened his mouth to say something coherent about how he was far too busy to put up with one of Leo's whims again.

"Oh, God, no..."

"They're scheduled to meet with you any minute now," she said urgently. "The good news is they don't have anything to do with UFO's."

"I don't care if they just stepped _off_ a UFO," Josh argued. "I've had three hours of sleep and I don't want to deal some crackpot lobbyists who think that their monthly Sasquatch sighting is a matter of national security."

"Actually," a voice said behind him, "our purpose here has nothing to do with Sasquatch, but you will soon see that it _is_ a matter of national security."

He stopped dead in his tracks, giving Donna the kind of look that made her brew the coffee a little stronger and refrain from making any sudden movements. She gave him an only slightly apologetic look and retreated to her desk as he turned to face the balding man.

"Josh Lyman," he introduced himself. "Deputy Chief of Staff."

"B.F., from B.F.D.," the man introduced himself, shaking hands enthusiastically.

"The motion picture studio," Josh recalled immediately.

"I'm flattered," B.F. said genially. "You've seen our work?"

"Yeah," Josh said. "It's great. I saw that one...uh, last year about the..."

He closed the door to cover the fact that he could not, for the life of him, remember a single thing they had made. BFD stories didn't usually make the Post, but the _Enquirer_ was more than happy to keep its readers up to date on the activities of its employees and leading actors.

"What can I do for you?" he asked hastily before the man could notice his gaffe.

"Well," B.F. responded, "as I said, it's a matter of national security and I do appreciate that you took the time to see me."

He couldn't honestly say "my pleasure," so he settled for "No problem."

"Go on," he invited.

The man clasped his hands in front of him and sank into the chair opposite Josh. "Well, Mr. Lyman," he said rather nervously, "I don't suppose you've heard of 'Duck, Duck, Goose?'"

"Yeah, sure," Josh replied, slightly bewildered but relieved to be back in some kind of familiar territory. "Played it as a kid."

The guy was shaking his head and sweating. Josh was getting nervous just _looking_ at him.

"Mr. Lyman, I'm referring to the play."

Okay, so maybe Donna _hadn't_ woken him up and he was still drooling his way through a post-Bartletism nightmare in his office. Since it was impolite to voice that opinion to his hallucinatory guest, he just blinked.

"In 1865, the play by Chester Wiffle was scheduled to open the week after 'Our American Cousins' at Ford's Theater. It's about presidential assassination and ducks...and geese...I think. Well, anyway, the point is, they couldn't exactly do it after Lincoln was shot and it's never premiered..."

Great. This guy was cut from the same cloth as the President and was probably as long-winded, but without the valuable moral lesson at the end. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes, yawn or simply pass out.

"Presidents Abraham Lincoln, John Garfield, William McKinley, Warren G. Harding, Franklin Delano Roosevelt...Let's just say we haven't had the best luck with the project, but we're confident that this time around, things will be different."

"Donna," Josh bellowed. "Could you bring us some coffee?"

She scurried past and he knew she had been listening in, just to see if there was anything entertaining in this year's special guest star for Big Block of Cheese Day. Maybe he'd just end the whole thing with "I'll be sure to take your concerns up with our staff and let you know" and then get the story from her once he'd recovered.

"I'm sorry," he said, "go on."

"Well, as I was saying," B.F. said unfazed, "we thought that the Secret Service should be warned of the threat to the president."

Josh usually didn't get lost in conversations unless he was really hung over or listening to a lecture on Acadia National Forest, but this was an exception.

"I'm sorry?" he blurted. "I thought you were talking about a movie."

"We are," the other man assured him, "and we're not saying he should be worried. It's just that every time someone's tried to get this ball rolling, someone else has had the bright idea to kill the president."

Donna came in to deliver the coffee, her expression indicating that she had _definitely_ been listening to everything this nutjob had said.

"And you think we need to warn the Secret Service?"

"Well," the man considered, "maybe _warn_ is too strong a word. Give 'em a heads up is more like it."

"So," Josh recapped, "you're making a movie."

"Yes."

"And it's about an assassination."

"Yes."

"And every time it's gotten this far, someone's killed off the President."

"Well, at least tried and to be fair, it was _not _our fault that FDR kicked the bucket."

That wasn't really a comforting thought. The guy was obviously delusional or just plain misguided.

"Why not just..." A muscle in his cheek twitched like it always did when he was trying unsuccessfully to be polite. "I don't suppose you could just, I don't know..._not make it?_"

_For all our sakes. So we don't have to put up with you saying "I told you so" if the President happens to stub his toe or something during post-production._

"Oh, no," B.F. Insisted. "This is a very important project and you can't imagine the amount of work that's gone into this. We're due to start shooting a week from tomorrow."

Given the subject of the film, there were _definitely_ better ways that he could have phrased that.

"Well," Josh conceded in a resigned tone, "I guess there's only one thing to do, then."

"You'll let the president know?" B.F. Asked excitedly.

_That there's a bunch of nuts out in Hollywood who think they're going to indirectly kill him? Yeah, Hitchcock, I'll mention it right after we finish with the First Lady's Ouija board._

"I'll take care of it," Josh promised.

"Thank you, Mr. Lyman," his guest burbled, shooting to his feet. "I'll get you tickets to D2G for this."

"You do that," Josh encouraged.

_I'll foist them off on the next intern I hate. I don't ruin young lives often enough._

"Thank you for your time," he responded. "You can find your way out?"

"Oh, yeah."

The man chugged down the rest of his coffee, shook hands again and then finally left.

"DONNA!"

"I heard," she called back. "Do you want me to get you some time with..."

"Call Leo and let him know I'm on my way over," he instructed. "I don't think the President has anything to worry about, but I might just kill the Chief of Staff for letting that guy in here in the first place..."


End file.
